I Want It
by MormonMaiden
Summary: One girls mindless ramblings on how much she wants to be Drum major, interupted by a painful Drumline memory. More of a reflection.


I've got five rivals. One in each year. All of us hoping for the same thing: Drum Major. Wanting the lights and the uniforms and the field beneath us, the eyes of the band looking up, waiting for the signal to go. We are friends, and yet enemies, because only one can truly win. And more than anything, I want that one to be me.

I tried out last year under the urging of a lady I know at church, who was Drum Major in high school. Her advice was to try out sophomore year, because even if I didn't make it during my junior year, I'd have an advantage my senior. It was close between Aaron and I, you could tell. The other two contestants were freshmen, and it was plain that while she gave them the customary amount of respectful attention, her judging eyes were on us. It was close, but in the end, he was a better conductor, and that's what a Drum Major does, right? How could I put my personal desires over what was best for the band? All weekend long I had been praying, "Dear Lord, let the right thing happen."

And it did.

So I spent another hard year with Drumline.

I love Drumline. I love the experience, the people, and the dedication it requires…but I am not the best drummer. True, I was not bad enough that she had to take me out, because I know she would have if I was really hurting the band, but the other two snare boys were so much better the difference was obvious. I practiced my heart out, but in the end all I could do was perpetuate the stereotype that girls can't be as good drummers, and mostly it was just in comparison to the others. I mean, I'm the one who made it to regionals. I was section leader. But I wasn't as good as the boys, and though it wasn't always spoken out loud, they made sure that they knew. I honestly thought that they really hated me, and wanted me off the line, until the time that I fell.

It was a scorching day when everyone was sweating before even putting on uniforms, and the idea of opening the jackets and releasing the pent up stench was almost unbearable. I woke up with an ominous foreboding, like in Star Wars when they say, "I have a bad feeling about this." I was repeating over and over again "Let the competition be okay…. let it be okay," but God didn't answer that prayer, or at least, not right away.

My snare carrier goes on underneath my jacket, making petite little old me look larger than natural; carrying a burden that looked like it weighed more than I did. As we lined up on the field, my stomach did another flip-flop, and I _knew_ that this was not going to go well.

The first song went well, and the tricky beginning of the second song. Then during the solo section, a part where I didn't even play but was moving up to get into position, I went down.

It wasn't an untied shoe or a faulty step. I blame it on uneven ground, but even that I'm not sure about. All I remember was the slower-than-molasses drop to the ground, a sickening crack, and the sensation of having the entire band marching away from me. Sunlight burned the back of my neck as I struggled to get up, only to fall again. When I managed to rise, I had to bend down again to retrieve my snare, which had fallen off of my carrier, and I knew that I was far behind. Finally I was able to move, where thankfully the drumline was still in a line preparing to go to the battle (the visual move that the band does during the cool battery rhythm), and I just managed to stop with the band. I was out of set, horribly out of place, and feeling utterly alone and worthless as the seconds of the park and play went on. I could see my destination, right through third and fourth bases. Fourth base looked at me, as if she couldn't believe what I was about to do, and then it was time to move. I rejoined the snare line, earning a belated exclamation of surprise from center snare, and desperately trying to pull myself together.

I have a diluted sense of the drummer personality, but even so, I am not afraid to admit that I was crying. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the collar of my uniform, wrinkling my face into an ugly look that described myself at the moment. My chin was as high as the others, but I felt less than worthless. I had ruined the show. I wanted out. I had ruined the show. I had failed the band.

It turns out that only four people beside myself had known about the fall when it happened. The Drum Major, who watched in horror, whose directing skills, I suppose suffered not only from my distraction but from nervousness about the situation, later told me that she was frightened by not knowing where I was. The fourth base, of course, who was more frightened that she might run me over than about me ruining the show, and the tenor player who marched beside me, who had to step over me to keep going. And of course, Center snare, the cynical, sardonic player that was genuinely alarmed at my disappearance.

After the performance, the band director took us outside, still in our uniforms, and gave us a little speech.

"That was okay, guys, definitely not our best, but not our worst either. There was only one real mess up, and she knows who she is, and I know she feels sorry for it and is going to work hard to improve." Or something like that anyway. I thought she was talking about me, but really, it was the Drum Major, who had once again had difficulty directing. At her words I started sobbing in earnest, earning the attention of one of the parents, who gave me a water bottle (the best dang water of my life) and one of the drum instructors, who had heard the news from center snare. I could feel the information spreading across the band like cancer, and when the drum instructor said "'Spamchan,' you fell?" I thought he was being sarcastic to make me feel better. It wasn't until the band director came and asked the same question that I began to consider that maybe my fall hadn't been as bad as it seemed. Meanwhile, Center snare went on proclaiming how worried he'd been about me, and my friends came over to comfort me. I was still inconsolable, but my tears were slowly stopping.

Actually, the competition served a dual purpose in picking a band for a parade, and while we were one of the smaller bands, despite my fall, we were called back to reperform our show later. The second time I did not fall, and later, when we watched the tape, it really wasn't that bad. Down, out, and then pop! Suddenly back in again. Our drumline motto "We are Gods" had a new meaning as my co-section-leader (the other snare) looked into my eyes and said, "That is what being a Goddess is about."

Well, that wasquite a tangent, but it serves my purpose. After that performance, the boy who had beat me at drum major started directing too, which made this a lot easier, he being better at it and all. (The band director wanted him to play sax, but train as a 'drum major apprentice,' a rather silly idea to me.) And I proved that I can take a fall, get up, and the first words out of my mouth will be, "Is my drum okay?"

I want what's best for the band. If some other kid is better for the Drum Major position than me, then so be it. The band deserves the best. But I want this. I want it so bad that I have trouble eating; my stomach is so full of butterflies. I have a whole two weeks before the tryouts, and still the thought fills me with nervousness and desire.

My weakness was directing. I've been lifting weights, and on Saturday I will be seeing the lady who inspired me to do it in the first place to help my to direct better. I've been working on it. Heck, I've been obsessing over it. I know its silly, but every idea leads back to being Drum Major. A while ago the boy who made it and I had a discussion, and we decided it would be best if we were both the drum majors. Last year that wasn't an option. Now it is.

I want it. I've earned it.

Will that be enough?

--Okay, that's all I can think of today. Please review! I'll try to update after tryouts and when they announce it…Oh my gosh…I want it so bad! Thanks y'all!--


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